


A Different Call

by beesbury



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Budapest, F/M, First Meetings, sharing a hotel room, that infamous mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:45:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesbury/pseuds/beesbury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You and I remember Budapest very differently."</p><p>Clint is sent to kill Natasha, and makes a different call - that part of the story we know. </p><p>This is what happened the rest of the week, when they were trapped in a hotel room, waiting for SHIELD to pick them up, unexpectedly realizing how much they have in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Will Be Fun

Clint was on the plane to Budapest before he opened the dossier. He had heard of Natasha Romanoff - codename: Black Widow - before, but never had the opportunity to take a long, hard look at her crimes. He slowly flipped through the pages, every movement carefully planned, as if he were considering a stock portfolio instead of a rap sheet. A stock portfolio doing very badly.

Thing was, it wasn’t too different from  his own history. Being a world-class archer had its perks, but in his line of work, it wasn’t exactly the type of thing you brought up at Christmas. As a result, he stayed alone - high up, out of sight even - and didn’t bother anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D.. He’d acquired a bit of a reputation, he’d heard around the water cooler.

Romanoff was one of the KGB’s best agenets and rumored to be their only interrogator. She was also rumored to be able to get any secret out of anyone. Shew as also, apparently, gorgeous. He consulted the photo with the dossier. The rumors proved true.

He leaned back into his chair. This wasn’t the first time S.H.I.E.L.D. had sprung for first class tickets, but it was always a luxury. He was playing the part of a businessman, and it made him nervous. He was nervous. He was never the chatty type. A briefcase was at his feet, and his bow was in there - a concession he had forced Fury to take. He got twitchy without it - he needed a touchstone, and his bow was practically an extension of his arm, so he had won that argument.

A stewardess offered him a drink and he glanced up over his glasses for a half-second, before turning back to his paperwork. He waved a hand casually. “Can I get a get a whiskey? Neat.” 

He was focused on writing a mission summary, so didn’t notice when she put the drink down next to him. He reached out for it. The whiskey was there, but there was a stir stick in the drink, the top a red hourglass.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, his head spinning back to look for the stewardess. There was a glimpse of red hair - that was her hair color, wasn’t it? - at the back of the plane. He caught up with her, and caught her wrist low, spinning her around, only to find a very confused flight attendant looking back at him.

“Shit — I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Happens all the time,” she said, smiling. 

When he walked back to his seat, there was a note waiting for him on his cocktail napkin.

NICE TRY BARTON. THIS WILL BE FUN. xo, ⧗

He swore loudly, making the other passengers look over. “I’m sorry. Just realized I’d left some paperwork back in the States.” On top of that, he saw his briefcase had been moved ever so slightly. He knew almost before opening it up that his bow was gone. That didn’t make the discovery any easier. Sonovabitch. There was only an hour until they landed, and he needed to touch base with SHIELD before he took any further action. He also needed a weapon in hand in case Fury decided to kill him. That was actually the most likely scenario. He spent the rest of the flight watching every person that passed in the aisles. It was mostly flight attendants and none that bore even a passing resemblance to Romanoff. 

When he landed, he called Coulson. “She was on the flight. Didn’t get a positive ID, but she left me a message. Plus she took my bow.”

Coulson paused for a long time. “I’m not going to ask. Look, part of your advance team went off the grid a few days ago. We suspected Romanoff, but had no way to confirm.”

“That explains how she got on my flight.”

“It does. We were running some counter ops and thought they still didn’t know. Be careful, Agent Barton.”

The line went dead and Clint sighed, holding out his hand to hail a cab. One swung through the rain-soaked streets and stopped in front of him. Clint waved towards his bags and got in the cab.


	2. the Chase

He didn’t see the Widow for a few more days. That managed to be simultaneously nerve-wracking and calming. He didn’t doubt that she was watching him, but he took every precaution to ensure that he was hard to track. It helped that he had been here with Coulson a few months ago. It also helped that he was damn good at his job.

At his third hotel, he stopped. He would maintain reservations at all three under different names until he found her, but he had to actually pick one to sleep in. This one had a large downstairs bar that made it helpful to watch for people, and have conversations that didn’t look suspicious. In fact, one was about to happen. He checked his watch. He was ahead of schedule, which was a nice change, so he sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey.

A few minutes later, someone slid into the seat next to him. Right on time. He looked out of the corner of his eye while taking a sip of his drink. A tall brunette, with — he took a longer look — legs that went on forever. That was a welcome change. Maybe this was a sign he’d finally gotten on Phil Coulson’s good side. He made a mental note to stay there.

“Enjoying Budapest, Mr. Barton? Or just the view?”

He turned and smiled. “Both. Nice to see you not on Phil’s arm. Can I get you a drink?”

“As long as you don’t mind if I make you pass along a message to him?”

“If you make it up to me over dinner, honey, you can say whatever you want.”

That got a laugh. “We’ll see about that. Tell Phil he’s such a dear, but I had to cancel our dinner date tonight. I’d love to reschedule later this week, say Wednesday at 8?”

Clint made a mental note. “Your favorite place?”

“No, I’m bored with that one. I’m thinking that one just around the corner. Onyx.”

Good. Not too far from here, and that meant that he could roughly figure out Natasha’s coordinates. Sometimes these agents on the ground blew his mind.

“So that means you’re free tonight?”

“You won’t tell Phil, will you?”

He waved the bartender over, and made a gesture that included the two of them. “Another round for myself and the lady.” He turned to her. “Which reminds me, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Clint,” he said, and held out his hand. 

“Mariska.”

 

###

 

He spent the next few days bored. He had a sneaking suspicion Coulson had told Mariska to not return his calls, so he wandered around Budapest. It was cold. Too damn cold for his liking, he thought, as he flexed his fingers over and over again. He sought refuge in cafés with pretty girls, in museums, in bars. He pretended to speak terrible Hungarian so people would sit and talk with him for a while, and ended up adding a few more swear words to his arsenal. 

For all of that, though, Budapest in the winter was bleak. The sun shone blindingly bright on the dismal snow, packed down now by weeks of feet. At least this meant he could walk around relatively undetected. A high collared coat, a scarf and a hat could do wonders for anonymity.

Wednesday arrived, cold and bright. He made his way to the hotel in question and sat in one of the upstairs galleries, with a seat that gave him an expansive view of the lobby. He sat, ordering coffees and chain smoking cigarettes, waiting for her to arrive.

She did. Dammit, she was gorgeous. Her red hair made her easy to keep his eyes on - the rest of her didn’t hurt either. 

He flagged a waiter down and handed him a note, gesturing down at her. Once he handed it off, Clint walked away. As much as he wanted to see the reaction on Romanoff’s face, he had business to attend to.

His stop was the hotel desk.

“Hi,” he said, false sheepishness fully on display. “Could you guys help me with something?”

The clerk was appropriately attentive. “But of course.”

He nodded ever so slightly in Romanoff’s direction. “See the redhead? She’s my girlfriend, and she’s here on business. I’m trying to surprise her—“ he paused for effect, “I’m going to propose, but— I don’t know what room she’s in.”

The clerk smiled. “Of course. Allow me…” He typed rapidly for a moment. “Room 516. Would you like a key?”

“That would be great.” He took the key and headed for the elevators. 

After a few minutes, it opened on the fifth floor, and he stepped out. For all the double and triple-crossing he and Romanoff had been doing for the last few days, he half-expected an ambush. That wasn’t true. He wholly expected an ambush.

But he also really wanted his bow back.

 


End file.
